Yesterdays
by Little Lunar Wolf
Summary: The two long awaited alternative sequels to Tomorrows. Short summaries inside. [Kibbs if you squint really hard]
1. Ending 1

**Title: **In Hindsight

**Author: **Little Lunar Wolf

**Rating:** K+

**Summary: **As much as it may hurt, it is never too late to change the routine.

**Disclaimer:** The characters of NCIS don't belong to me and I take no credit. This piece is for the enjoyment of fans. No infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:** Please don't kill me….I know this took ages and ages and ages and I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting. I just hope this will make things all better. So this isn't what I was originally going to write but I felt it sort of continued on well with both Tomorrows and the actual season. If you haven't read Tomorrows yet it would be advisable to do so, it's only short so it shouldn't take too long. Heres hoping you like this.

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The lush green grass is soft under his soles, bearing his weight then releasing it. Droplets of dew that continue to fall on the blades get kicked up with each step, scattering across his shoes, and up his pant legs. It is still dark, the sun's first rays puncturing the horizon in the distance. He is a shadow among shadows.

The rain continues to fall steadily, beads of water falling off his shoulders, and down the tendrils of his silver hair. In his right hand he cradles a stem, kept close to his body as to avoid the downpour. A deep shade of maroon nestled next to brown. He carries it gently, with the uttermost care. Protecting, but not crushing.

Through the screen of falling water he sees his destination, and steels himself for the last steps knowing they will be the hardest. This is his first time here alone, away from the sobs of those dressed in black and the looks of sympathy and anger cast his way. He had not shed a tear, his expression stony. Her family had stared, enraged at his lack of emotion for their angel. Those close to him knew he was weeping for her. Knew he blamed himself every moment he took a breath, while she didn't. They knew a part of him had died when the sickening sound of metal against bone permeated through the night.

His eyes are unfocused as he nears her grave, walking on without control. It isn't long before he finds his shoes near the foot of her grave. He hesitates a moment before taking his final steps. He stands; shoulders hunched as he looks down from her headstone to her grave and envisions her, eyes closed skin cold and can't help but see himself lying there next to her. His eyes stray back to her headstone and he stares at the engravings, burning the image to memory.

"Beloved daughter and sister"

He shakes his head in disgust, anger welling up in him as he thinks of all she missed out on. She'll never get recognised as a wife and mother, something he realises most probably would have happened if he never recruited her in the first place.

As he gazes at those four words, he curses himself for seeing something special in her, that he couldn't resist. For selfishly jumping at the chance of staying in contact with her without overstepping the boundary between professionalism and primal want. But most of all he curses himself for being a coward.

The times when he would stay outside her window watching her, seem like a past life. The chances he had to make a move, to be less Gibbs-like, were plentiful, yet he let them slip easily through his fingers, finding comfort in his knowledge that there was always tomorrow. What he would give to be given another chance.

As the rain continues to beat down on him he looks away to stare at his shoes ashamedly. Regarding every droplet as a constant reminder that he stands, breathing, while she rests below him. He feels it's his fault and no one can tell him otherwise. The blame rests at his feet and he accepts it, both hands held out. There is a part of him that whispers that he couldn't do anything, that he's only human, that it wasn't his fault, yet he disregards it as he would the sawdust on his basement floor. Just as credit is given where it is due, the same is said for blame.

His legs feel weak under him, and he falls to his knees, one hand gripping the textured grass, his head bent. Water spreads up his pants, through to his skin and he feels a light chill run through his body. As he once again looks up at her headstone, he feels the need to say something. And as pitiful as it will sound to his ears, he knows that he needs to say it, as much as he feels she needs to hear it. His numb lips open and he murmurs, "I'm sorry Katie. I'm so sorry." And as the words leave his mouth anguish washes over him as he recalls the first time he told her his Rule 4- "Never say you're sorry." He finds it ironic that his life will now be full of apologises that in his mind, will never be accepted.

A single tear escapes from the side of his eye, and he squeezes both tightly shut, teeth clenched. He hasn't cried in years, and he won't start again now. She wouldn't want him to change his ways. She would want him to be strong, for himself and all those around him and he wasn't about to disappoint her again.

He stands to his feet. His hands are numb, and he suddenly remembers the single rose he brought her. Holding it in one hand, he fingers the delicate petals, flicking the droplets of water that managed to fall on the silky surface. He regards it critically, observing any imperfections, before placing a soft kiss onto the petals and moving forward to place it gently to rest on top of her headstone. He runs his hand lightly over her name before turning away and walking back the way he came, vowing that he will continue to watch out for her, though this time he will do it by her side.

**END

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**AN2:** Done and I'm really hoping it lived up to its predecessor. If you could review and let me know your opinions it will be helpful.

I've been thinking that since I took so long to do a sequel I would do two alternative endings to Tomorrows to sort of make up for my extended absence. This is the first of those sequels. It's only an idea but I would be grateful if you could let me know if I should just leave it as it is or go ahead with my plan.

**Special Thanks:** I would like to thank the following people for helping me reach my first double figure review tally by leaving a comment for Tomorrows- **orangeangel, ****Zeki Young, ****iceicekatie, ****Navy Babe****, Pen, ****jtbwriter****, CK, ****LadyMarmalade282****, Samantha, Kate, ****Milouze, ****Gaylehill-crusader **and** B.C. **Thank you so much guys. I appreciate it immensely.


	2. Ending 2

**Title:** Coin Toss

**Author:** LLW

**Rating:** K

**Summary:** Doubts of his actions start to seep into his head, and it takes all the willpower within him, to resist; to bite down the fear and second guessing from flowing forth and enveloping him.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. There the obvious has been stated.

**Author's Note: **For Sammie, who through our talks was my inspiration for this piece.

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The night is darker and colder than he had earlier anticipated when he had left his house and his boat. He feels slightly chilled from the strong breeze pulling at his coat but not so much for it to be considered a hindrance. This is the second time he's been here in the space of 3 hours; the watch on his wrist reads 10:38.

Overhead the street lamps fall around his figure every once in a while when he ventures through the circular pools on his way to the destination intended. As he makes his way across the street to stand in front of her apartment building he notes the absence of light on path, and for a time briefly wonders the dangers of such an absence. Therefore a mental reminder is made to take that up with the council, an act more for her safety then anyone else's. He looks up and spots her window, acknowledges the light peeping through her thick curtains, the brief shadow moving within and knows she must be occupied and still very much awake.

For the longest time he had sat in his car, watching that same light, hoping it would go out and thus give him an acceptable reason to drive off once again into the night like he had done earlier tonight and every other night for the pass few months. It had taken two cups of coffee, and an hour and ten minutes later before he emerged from his car, to stand beside the tree opposite her apartment complex; ten minutes longer than he had designated himself once he had stopped the car. Now with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, and with a breath that clearly resembles mist, he makes the trek up to her door, thankful that her apartment is three floors up.

On his way towards her door, he notices that the walls on either side of him are painted dull beige, which is slightly peeling in certain places to expose the graffiti that it was intended to cover up. He has to compliment whoever was responsible for this minor act of dignity, as flawed as it may be, the effort is there and he acknowledges it. He's been around way too many apartment complexes where bold black scrawled across the walls are what he would usually come to expect; that paint, and paint only on walls seems to be a foreign occurrence in his everyday life.

It isn't long before he reaches her floor, passing doors without really noticing the closing proximity between his position and her door. For a moment he hesitates, turns, and then takes a step down ready to go back the way he came from. Doubts of his actions start to seep into his head, and it takes all the willpower within him, to resist; to bite down the fear and second guessing from flowing forth and enveloping him. Momentarily surprising himself he changes direction, once again facing forward towards her door. At this very moment he wishes for a strong black coffee in his hand, and with the knowledge that coffee could only be a single knock away he ploughs on, ignoring the little voice of uncertainty incessantly whispering in his ears. Coffee always made things better for him; it was his chocolate.

The walk to her door, although only a few feet, feels much longer to him than it rightfully is. Once in front of her door, he stands oddly and just stares at every inch of the polished white wood surface; the somewhat tarnished handle, the gold plated number that is just the slightest bit off centre, and even the little peeling of the white paint along the right hand corner of the door. His attempt at distraction though soon grows tiresome, and anxiousness starts to creep up into his stomach. He can't stand out here all night and he knows it. It's now or never, and he comes to realise that at this moment he hates the sentiment it holds.

Still unsure of himself, Gibbs reaches into his pant pocket, grabs hold of a coin and brings it forth. The coin feels heavy resting on the palm of his hand; the weight of implication falling solidly over him. Closing his hand firmly he moves the coin to rest in between his thumb and forefinger lightly running the pads of his finger and thumb along the embossed surface. The glint of light reflected off the metal surface seems so magical that maybe the world he is living in isn't real at all. It isn't long before his grade eleven physics kicks in though, and what he thought was supernatural only a minute ago, seems so normal now.

Positioning the coin, he utters a single word. A flip, a flash of sliver slicing the air and his fingers wrap firmly around the cool metal disc. There is a little bit of fear in him as he turns the coin over on his left hand, his right stays positioned on top of his left covering up the result that could very well change the foundations of a relationship that he has come to value these past few years.

Taking a deep breath, he lifts his hand and looks at the image that stares back at him. Before the flip he decided that whether he accepted it or not, he intended to follow through with whatever outcome the coin dictated and now was the time to act. Placing the coin, back in its point of origin, he then brings his hand an inch away from hitting wood. He pauses, thinks over his situation then allows his knuckles to strike the wood firmly, in rapid succession. His breath is held, and a tinge of regret, mingled with fear, hits him. Shaking it off, he decides now is not the time. Shuffling is heard on the other side of the door, before it swings open and the light from within falls upon him.

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As Kate Todd walks into the bullpen she notices a white envelope propped neatly on her desk, her name scrawled in a familiar writing. Curiously she walks over, puts her things down and sits in her chair, pulling her letter opener out of her top drawer. Sliding the blade through the top she sees two items within. The first being a single folded sheet of paper, the second oddly enough to her, a small twenty cent piece. Placing the coin on her desk she opens the note and reads:

_Katie,_

_For whenever a hard decision needs to be made._

_-G_

And as she places the note down, she stares confusedly at his desk, wishing he was there so she could question him, unaware that a few feet away he is standing watching her with a small wistful smirk on his face.

**END **

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**AN2:** Sorry for the long, long wait. Comments and constructive criticisms always welcome. Thanks for reading.


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